


Lost (and Found!) in the Mail

by sylvermists



Category: Wooden Overcoats
Genre: also ft. me attempting to recreate madeline's narration style and getting carried away, antigone and these two bastards, anyways enjoy, ft. mr e. chapman's ridiculous reputation, just a lil slice of life featuring everyone's three favorite disaster funeral directors, or like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 16:14:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15392553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylvermists/pseuds/sylvermists
Summary: An unexpected letter delivered to the Funn's doorstep forces them to reconsider some things about the funeral home across the square.





	Lost (and Found!) in the Mail

If one disregarded the interior of what was widely agreed to be the inferior of its two funeral homes, it was a wholly unremarkable Sunday in the village of Piffling Vale, complete with a somewhat confusing morning prayer held by a reverend that had recently taken quite the shine to shintoism and it’s lack of conventions surrounding things such as regular religious sevices. Neither Rudyard and Antigone Funn, the co-owners of the aforementioned funeral home, were there for it, however.

The reason? A very interesting letter left on their doorstep.

It was wrapped in brown paper, and appeared to not only have been completely submerged in salt water, but also to have been repeatedly stomped on by someone who had a habit of walking around in large, muddy boots. The address, written in red marker, was only barely legible:

/The Piffling Vale Funeral Home./

Of course, as any self-respecting Piffling Islander could have told you, there are two funeral homes in their little village. They would very likely have followed up that statement with a very strong suggestion as to which one they would recommend turning to in case one was ever in need of such a service, but that isn’t relevant to this story.

What is relevant, though, is that Funn Funerals were the ones on the receiving end of this letter, seemingly dropped off in the middle of the night, hours before the local postman would even begin to consider going his rounds. And, as Antigone pointed out to her brother using much the same line of logic that has been used here, whoever had left it didn’t seem to be a Piffling native.

Which made it very unlikely that it was meant for either of them, since the most contact either of them had had with the world outside of the English Channel came via the traveling magazines that Georgie’s nana had sometimes brought with her while visiting her granddaughter at Funn Funerals. So, unless the letter had been sent by a very enthusiastic editor wanting to explore every corner of their fanbase, the letter coming to the Funns had been a mistake.

Rudyard wasn’t too happy when Antigone explained to him what that meant.

Something that cheered him up significantly, however, was that Madeline, in the true spirit of authorly research, had chewed through the already worn strings holding the wrapping together while the twins had been speaking. And as the letter’s contents spilled out across the kitchen table, both of the Funns realized that perhaps they didn’t know their across-the-square neighbor as well as either of them had thought.

Because the letter had held a single sheet, torn out of the latest edition of the Collins English Dictionary. The word “agent” (eɪdʒənt) had been circled multiple times in the same red marker that had been used to write the address, and underneath, the words “terminate” and “mission”, even though they should not, logically, have appeared on that page, or even in that order.

And while Rudyard began to grumble about psychological warfare and Chapman /really/ hitting a new low, Antigone’s mind was spinning with the implications of this strange note. It was clear to her that something had to be done, but the only person who she could think of who might be capable of dealing with a situation like this was the person at the center of it all. She /did/ have a vague recollection of Georgie off-handedly mentioning that she was great at exposing undercover spies, but as she suspected that the context surrounding that had had more to do with an intense game of Monopoly than actual agents, it didn’t seem like something that would be very helpful in this current scenario.

Then there was a knock on the door, and a familiar voice from outside.

“Are we in there, Funns? There’s something I’d like to ask your opinion on.”

Rudyard, thankfully, stopped the surely impressive tirade he’d been in the middle of, and turned towards the door with a sigh. Before he could open it, however, Antigone managed to grab hold of his arm, wrenching her brother back from the door.

“Are you out of your mind?” She hissed, casting nervous glances behind her, half-expecting to see Chapman already inside. “We can’t let him in!”

“I-” Rudyard seemed confused for a moment, and then, without warning, his face split into the biggest smile Antigone had ever seen on him. It was horrifying enough for her to almost consider letting Chapman in after all. But her brother continued unpertrubed.

“Oh, Antigone, I’m so glad you’ve finally come to your senses, and realized what a piece of perfect scum that man really is! Now that we’re both on the same page, I think it’s time to up our game, maybe recruit some professionals, and /really/ show that man what we Funns are-”

“Rudyard, I can hear you ranting about me in there,” Chapman’s voice, cheerful as always, broke off what was gearing up to be Rudyard’s second grand speech of the morning. “I’m dreadfully sorry if I’ve disturbed the two of you during something important, though I can’t imagine what that might be at nine in the morning, but this will really only take a moment, and I would be immensely grateful if you could-”

“Now look here-” Rudyard began, loudly, before Antigone clamped her hand over his mouth, heart racing in her chest.

“No, /you/ look, Rudyard,” she hissed in his ear, desperately hoping that Chapman would just call it a day and go back to his sprawling shopping mall-esque complex of a funeral home (if that was even what it was. She had not idea what to think anymore). “Here!”

Her brother read the note. Then he read it again. Then he dropped it with a gasp.

“Antigone!” He exclaimed. “Antigone, I’ve cracked it! He’s the-”

Here he broke off, grabbed the note again, and held it up, aggressively pointing to the circled word while doing truly horrific things with his eyebrows.

“Yes, Rudyard, I /know/. And until we know who sent that letter, and why, we can’t let anyone know that we-”

“Oh, so you /did/ get it!”

And there, standing behind them, wearing a trademark smile that was nowhere near as traumatic to look at as Rudyard’s had been, was Eric Chapman.

For a split second, nobody moved. Then Antigone threw the object closest to her, which just so happened to the letter’s wrapping that was still lying forgotten on the table, at him. Of course, Chapman being perfect bloody Chapman, he snatched it out of the air, and held it up to the light, as if to examine it more closely.

“Yes,” he murmured, thoughtfully, half to himself. “Yes, Antigone, you’re right. The craftsmanship /is/ a bit shoddy. No one will ever believe that mud’s real, will they? I suppose I’ll have to send it back, along with the old campaign posters for me as Denmark’s Mr. Sunshine Man of the year. Can you believe they spell Eric with a ‘k’ over there? I suppose it does look more authentic, but then again I want people to recognize the-”

“What-” Antigone stared at him, eyes wide. “What the /bloody hell/ are you talking about?”

“The Eric Chapman Experience, of course! We haven’t trademarked it yet, since I’m still banned from every patent office in Northern Europe since, well, since a long time ago, but once it kicks off, oh, it’ll be all anyone on Piffling talks about! Just imagine, getting to feel what it’s like to spend a day in my shoes. Not to toot my own horn here, but I have a hard time imagining it’ll be anything but a resounding success.”

“So you’re not a, uh-”

“The subject of that letter?” Chapman laughed. “Heavens no, but it’s based on a very interesting rumor started about me a few years- I mean, a long time ago, so I thought that it would be a fitting place to start. If you want to learn more, you’ll just have to complete the Eric Chapman Experience and find out like everyone else.”

With that, and a wink, he was out the door, already pulling his phone out of his pocket.

Neither Funn said anything. Then Rudyard drew a long sigh of relief, and turned to face his sister.

“Looks like we’re off the hook. Now, what should we do about this whole, hem, /agent/ business?”

**Author's Note:**

> basically rudyard's an idiot but we love him anyway the end


End file.
